The Apple Never Falls Far From The Tree
by china.teacups
Summary: I thought it would be interesting to look at why Ace Merrill is the way he is. I came up with this theory. :  Please review. Includes domestic violence.
1. Johnny Boy

"Beverly?"

The blonde woman sitting at the dining room table jumped. "He's early," She thought frantically. Early? No! No, no… this was the worst thing that could happen. The dinner wasn't ready; John wasn't presentable, come to think of it, neither was she. The son-of-a-bitch was early.

"Woman, get off your ass and unlock the screen door!" Richard Merrill bellowed angrily. "This what you do all day? Sit on your backside? Hurry up I say!"

The woman automatically leapt up and scurried to the door. She moved like a squirrel, with short and sharp movements. Beverly Merrill was a nervous woman. She had reason to be. At the door she was met by the furious face of her husband. Silently, she sent a prayer to God that John would stay upstairs.

She wrestled with the lock and was about to swing open the door when it was pushed open by her husband on the other side of it. The edge of the door slammed into the side of her face, knocking her backwards a good few steps. She didn't fall, however. She had learnt that when your around Richard Merrill its best to be on your feet.

Her husband stormed into the kitchen and clumsily dropped onto a chair. His face and hands where filthy from working down the junk yard and there was a strong smell of whiskey about him. The aroma made Beverly's stomach knot. "Funny thing, woman," he slurred, ignoring his wife's rapidly swelling cheek. "Don't smell no dinner cookin'. I wonder why that is?"

"You're e-early" Beverly whispered in despair. Her husband snorted.

"Suppose," He said, obviously amused at her terror. "That ole' fart down the Junkyard let us off a bit before our time." He began to struggle drunkenly with his work boots. "Bevvie," he hiccupped. "Me boots feel a long way off."

With her heart thudding, Beverly bent down and began to untie the laces of his boots. Looking down, Richard giggled like a school boy. "You always did suit being on your knees, Bev." Beverly's stomach twisted with disgust.

Looking around, Richard realized there was something missing. "Hey," he shouted suddenly, making Beverly jump with shock "Where's our Johnny boy?"

Beverly swallowed. "He- he's out p-playin'. Let him be" Richards face dropped. He jumped up with rage. Swaying slightly, be bellowed into his wife's pained face "Let him be? Let him be! He's _my_ son, _mine_, you ugly bitch. Where is he?"

"Please! Richie please! He 'aint done nothin' bad! Don't go batterin' him about, hes been a good boy all day!" Beverly pleaded.

"Bullshit! He's a little bastard if I ever saw one!" He raised his hand steadily, determination set in his features. "Where is the little faggot? Eh? Answer me!" Beverly winced, but before her husband could deliver his blow, a tiny voice came from the doorway.

"H-here I am, Pa."


	2. Mother and Son

The rain poured down over Castle Rock. While trucks rumbled on the highway, and birds took shelter in the trees protective branches, a little boy with bright blonde hair sat on his front wall, playing with a dirty tennis ball. John Merrill was a lonely boy. He didn't know it though. To him, his world was contained in the four walls of his house, his front lawn and his mother's arms.

He turned the tennis ball over in his tiny hand. He didn't dare bounce it. His father was sleeping, and he was a very light sleeper, even when he was drunk.

"I hate him" John whispered softly. A small smile played on his lips.

"I _hate_ him" he said, raising his voice a tiny bit.

"So do I, baby."John's spiky blonde head whipped round. His mother came and sat on the wall beside him, hitching up her legs and wrapping her arms around her knees like a child. Her dirty blonde hair was damp, and it fell down her back in waves. She looked lovingly at her son with soft gray eyes.

"But he's your Daddy, and he feeds you an' gives you a home to live in an' a bed to sleep in an'…"

"Beats the shit outta me, even when i've been a really, really good boy."

Beverly's eyebrows shot up. "Johnny, where did you get dirty language like that? Now you know I don't like you speakin' like that. An' don't even dream of using that word in front of your father." She shuddered at the thought.

John cast his eyes down to the soaking pavement "Pa says it." he muttered. "Your pa's not right in the head." Beverly whispered, casting a nervous glance back at the house.

Mother and son sat in silence. Fat raindrops hit their faces and trickled down the back of their sweaters, but they didn't mind. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Beverly reached out a hand and stoked her son's cheek. "My baby," she uttered softly. Her heart was breaking. Why wasn't she strong enough to save him? What kind of mother was she? Her quiet, amazing little boy now had to deal with her big ugly lump of a mistake.

John closed his eyes as his mothers soft hand glided down his cheek. He swallowed a lump in his throat. Why wasn't he strong enough to save her? What kind of son was he? His father was right; he wasn't and never would be a man. Everything his beautiful mother had to deal with was his fault. He was a bad boy.

Meanwhile, Richard Merrill watched sleepily from the sitting room window. His stomach twisted with rage. "Look at her," he thought. "She'll be out there turning him against me, like she normally does. Stupid, skinny bitch." He was distracted by his bloated stomach rumbling loudly. He made his way to the fridge, took out a glass tray of left over lasagna, and began to eat it with his fingers.


	3. The Cat Sat On The Mat

John felt hot tears well up on his eyes. He looked down that the book in front of him. The font was big, and letters where bold, and he knew it was supposed to be easy, but to him the letters made no sense. They were just lines a squiggles dancing around the page.

He swallowed. "Just take your time," John thought, remembering his mother's words when she had tried to teach him to read from his word cards at home.

"John, dear," Mrs. Connell said, tapping her foot. "Where waiting."

"Th-th-th…" John felt the tears spill over and they dropped onto the page that was no more than three inches below his nose. This made it worse. The lines and squiggles danced even more, mocking him.

"Please, Mrs. Connell," a young boy in the front said, raising his hand. "I know how to say it. Please let me say it."

"Denis Lachance," Mrs. Connell said sternly. "I'm asking Mr. Merrill to answer this one. Kindly put down your hand. John, come on. Read out the sentence for me." John looked up into the elderly face of his second grade teacher. She was leaning casually on her desk. Couldn't she see he was crying? Didn't she realize he was dying inside? He thought furiously. His hand clenched on the sides of his desk, as he tried to rein in the familiar bubble of anger that was rising from the pit of his stomach.

"Shut up, you ugly bitch," He spat. Gasps filled the room. Everyone shifted around their chair to face him. All accept the dark haired boy who had raised his hand, who sat waiting for Mrs. Connells reaction while biting his lip.

Mrs. Connell's face fell momentarily. Then she hitched it back up and simply said, "Outside, now." This was music to John's ears. He raced out of the suffocating classroom. While he listened to his teacher telling the class to read to the end of the page while she spoke to 'Mr. Merrill' outside, John tried to push away an ugly thought that kept trying to surface. He had been as shocked as anyone to hear what had just come out of his mouth. More so, maybe, because he had been the only one in the room that recognized the voice. It had been his fathers.

Beverly Merrill was not listening to a word Hilda Connell was saying. Instead, she was watching her son from the window. He was sitting on the edge of the sand box, dragging a stick through the sand. Waiting for her. How much she wanted to hold him.

"Mrs. Merrill, I don't think you understand what I'm getting at." Hilda was saying, shifting in her chair. "I've been watching your son closely, and I'm quite positive he's dyslexic. I think we need to enter him into another class. A… special class." Beverly's head whipped around.

"You sayin' my son's stupid?" Beverly demanded.

"Not at all, Mrs. Merrill. It's a disease, a disability. Your son can't help it. But it really is holding back my class. It's not fair to the other children" Mrs. Connell gushed.

Beverly was seething. How dare this fat cow suggest her son was retarded? She stood up abruptly. "I won't stand for my boy to be held back cause some ole' bitch fancies playing the physiologist!" Just as she made it to the door, Hilda spoke again.

"It's not just the dyslexia," she stated stubbornly. "Your son constantly fails to control his temper. Three times he has hit another child, and that's only what I know off. Other children are intimidated by him. And his language is disgusting."

"You liar," Beverly spat. "My boy knows not to cuss."

"Quite on the contrary," Mrs. Connell replied smoothly. "Just today he decided it would be hilarious to call me a vile word in front on the whole classroom"

"And what dreadful word would this be?" Beverly inquired mockingly.

"Ugly bitch."

Beverly Merrill's heart sank.

"Hey" a weary voice said. John looked up from the sand box. "What do _you _want?" John inquired fiercely.

"Nuthin'," Denis Lechance replied. "Mind if I sit?"

John thought about it, and decided he would mind company right now, even if it was a fag like Lachance. "Sure," he grumbled, shifting along the rough wood edge of the sand box. Denny's face glowed. "Thanks," he replied, dumping himself in the newly vacant space next to John. They sat in silence for a while, both watching the end of John's stick gliding through the sand. Finally Denny spoke, and John was surprised and his somber tone.

"Sorry I didn't try harder in class. I tried the get the ole' bat to let me say the stupid sentence so she would lay of you, but she didn't bite the bait."

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why would you do that?" he asked wearily.

"Your cool," Denny shrugged. "And I figured by the way you act that you got enough on your plate, so you don't need some stupid broad botherin' you about 'The Cat Sat On The Mat.' "

John looked down. He should sock the kid in the jaw for talking about what he 'had on his plate'. Denny had no idea. But he was surprised to find he didn't want too.

"Thanks," John muttered roughly. "and- your cool too, I guess."

Denny grinned again and softly punched John on the shoulder. Chuckling, John give Denny a sharp shove that pushed him into the sand pit.

At that moment, John Merrill and Denis Lachance became best friends.


	4. Its Ace

Richard Merrill rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had been watching his son John digging in the garden from the window for about ten minutes now. At thirteen years old, John was slowly starting to get muscles. Mostly from the hard chores his father gave him to do. It was summer break. Sweat dripped down John's bare back, his arms ached like hell and his mouth tasted matalic. But he wouldn't stop till it was finished. That was John's way.

A thought passed through Richie Merrill's mind. The boy was growing, and fast at that. While John went from strength to strength, Richie was getting older, fatter, and weaker. He noticed that defiance was starting to grow in his sons eyes. The boy was still shit scared of him, but over time, when he became a man, John would begin to fight back. This thought terrified Richie. All his life, he had been the one in control. He was the captain, the pilot, the mother fucking _king_.

But every monster must eventually destroy its creator.

And John was slowly becoming a monster. Richie could see that. He was hanging around less and less with the faggot Lachance, and stared to hang around with the Chambers kid. Richie smirked at this. That Lachance really was a wet rag. Same as his shithead of a father. Where on the other hand, although that Chambers was thick as pigs shit, he could handle himself. His father was a psycho, the whole town knew that. He'd be good for John. Get him a tough reputation, and toughen the little faggot up a bit.

"It's that ugly bitch's fault," Richie thought, shaking his head. "She babies him too much."

As if on que, The 'Ugly Bitch' pulled into the driveway. Beverly Merrill caught sight of her son in the garden, and sighed heavily. His hair was gelled up in sharp spikes. He had a bandage on his arm from where he and that awful Chambers boy had been 'Play fighting'. Beverly had begun to notice that Denny didn't call around anymore. How she missed him. He was the only thing in John's life keeping him straight.

Beverly got out of the car, juggling grocery bags. "Johnny, dear," she called. "Can you help me with these bags please?"

Johns head whipped up. He caught her with his angry gaze. "Ma, _don't _call me Johnny, or dear. How many times? Its _ace_."

Beverly scoffed. "Really, John. Ace? Did that shithead Chambers come up with that one?"

John blushed furiously. "Leave Eyeball outta this!"

His mother shook her head sadly. "Eyeball. You kids are nuts. Help me with these bags."

"I'm _busy_, ma." John replied stubbornly, returning to his work.

Beverly felt tears rise to her eyes, but blinked them back. She was losing him. She was losing her little baby.

She shuffled sadly up the front steps, unaware of her husband's amused gaze from the window. John turned around to watch her. "Stupid bitch," he muttered darkly, then was instantly swallowed by shame.


	5. Like your old man

**Thanks to MooMonsters for being my first review on my story!**

**Check out her stuff, yeah?**

**I'm trying to update this as much as I can; I want to get it finished.**

Denny Lachance sighed heavily. He had been too his first ever football practice, just to please his Father. He had realized he was quite good at it; but it was boring as hell. He didn't want to go back, but he knew he would have too. Whatever made his father happy… "Or shut him up," Denny thought bitterly.

He subconsciously turned from the main street down a small back alley. He was heading to Johnny's house. On realizing this, he stopped short. He couldn't go there anymore. Something hadn't been right with him and John in a long time. He couldn't say he missed the place; John's old man was a dick. But he missed Bev. And mostly he missed John.

Denny turned back the way he had come. He would go to Rory's diner and get a soda before going home. Or maybe just a sandwich; his dad wouldn't approve of a soda after all that training…

Suddenly a voice interrupted his thoughts. "Well, if it isn't pretty little Denise!"

Denny cringed. He knew that loud brash voice anywhere.

Eyeball Chambers stood grinning at the other end of the alley way. "Hey, Ace, looka what I found!"

"It aint sumthin' dead again, is it? If it is, I swear I'll make you eat it." Ace called back, walking grandly up behind Eyeball. He stopped dead when he saw Denny's pale face staring wildly at him.

"Ace?" Denny asked wearily. Realization suddenly dawned on him, and he began roaring with laughter.

"Please," Denny spluttered. "Please Johnny, do not tell me he just called you _Ace_!"

Any shock Ace had received on seeing his best friend at the end of that alleyway disappeared rapidly. The bubble of hot anger rose from his stomach, setting fire to his guts. This was the feeling Denny had helped him to get rid of, and now being with Eyeball had re-surfaced it. A voice that Ace did not reconise rose from his throat.

"You laughin' at me, kid?" He growled. "I'll break your motherfuckin' neck!"

Denny's laughter stopped short. Even Eyeball took a step back, but he was still grinning from ear to ear. Denny eyed Ace with a look of utter bewilderment. "Jo-Johnny…"

"My name is _Ace_!" Ace bellowed, striding down the alleyway. "_Little Johnny Merrill_ doesn't exist anymore!"

Eyeball had struggled to keep up. He now blundered clumsily down the alleyway after Ace. "Something's strange," Eyeball thought frantically. Then he realized; Ace always followed him. The balance was slipping, the roles where changing. Ace was in charge of this.

Fire rose in Denny too. He had never been violent, but hearing Johnny talk like this brought out a side of Denny even he didn't know he had.

"Back of, John," Denny warned. "Don't come charging towards me with your scruffy little _friend_. A stupid new name and bit of hair gel won't change who you are!"

Smoke was practically coming out of Ace's ears. He had never been so angry, not when his father burnt all of his toys that day when he was seven; not even when Mrs. Connell put him in the special class.

"You fuckin' little _pussy_!" He screamed into Denny's face.

"You have no idea how much like your old man you sound," Danny spat viciously.

Eyeball flinched. He knew how Ace felt about his Father, even though they didn't talk about… feelings and stuff. Ace's Father was a psycho, the whole down knew that. The shit had hit the fan.

Ace couldn't breathe. Anger covered his eyes like a red mist. His had flew out, and his fist caught Denny's chin. The force sent him off his feet. Without even taking a breath, he leapt on top of Denny's torso and back smacking him in the face. He kicked and punched until Eyeballs bellowing laughter stopped, and he could feel him trying to pull him away.

"Ace! Ace! You're killin' him man, your killin' him!" Eyeball screamed, near tears.

This stopped Ace. He looked down. Denny had stopped struggling a long time ago. His face and clothes where covered in red, his curly black hair bloody.

Ace rose calmly. He grabbed a sobbing Eyeball by the front of his shirt, and dragged him out of the alleyway. They turned the corner, up another side street and came out onto the main road. Ace found a Phone Box and dialed 911.

"Hello you have called 911. What is your emergency?"

"There's a boy beaten badly in the alleyway just off the Main Road in Castle Rock. He's breathing but loosin' blood. Hurry please."

"Who is calling?"

"Don't matter. Just hurry."

Ace hung up and continued to drag Eyeball up the street. The Chambers house wasn't far.

"Your folks in?" Ace hissed back at Eyeball.

The thirteen year old shook his head sadly. "Good, we can use your place to clean up."

When they arrived at Eyeballs, Ace went straight up the steps, through the hallway and slumped on the couch.

Eyeball followed but stayed hovering in the sitting room doorway. He looked in amazement at his casual friend.

"Ace- we just killed someone"

"Nah, he was breathing. It looked worse that it was." Ace said dryly.

Eyeball shifted uneasily. "Then… won't he tell on us?"

Ace thought for a moment. "Probably," he concluded.

Eyeball winced. "What do we…"

"We wait," Ace interrupted. "See what the pussy does first. Then we decide. We can say it was just a fight that got out of hand. You can rough me up a bit if it comes to that."

Eyeball swallowed. He didn't fancy roughing up this new Ace.

Ace sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The blood on his knuckles was drying.

What he had told Denny was right..

Little Johnny Merrill was gone.


	6. Summer of 1958

**Summer of 1958**

Ace Merrill sat on his porch with a beer in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Deciding he needed something stronger, he rose and entered his shady little house. He went to his father's drink cabinet, got out a bottle of whiskey, and took a swig. The liquor burnt down his throat.

"What are you doing?" A voice said from the doorway. Ace turned to face an extremely overweight man with a gray beard and watery brown eyes. "Fuck off, Richard." Ace spat. He had stopped calling the man Pa a long time ago.

Richard Merrill sighed but obeyed. You didn't want to be around Ace when he was like this.

As his father shuffled heavily out the door, Ace sighed. "Fat bastard," he growled. He had no sympathy for that man. Even though she had died of cancer two years ago, Ace still blamed his father for his beloved mother's death.

Death. That's what it all ended with. It was inevitable. Ace looked at the headline again.

"**Local Football Hero Killed In Tragic Jeep Crash"**

"Why does this hurt?" Ace wondered. Sure, they had been friends as kids. One of the best friends Ace had ever had. But that was five years ago. The last time Ace had so much as said a word to Dennis Lachance, it had been 1953, when he had muttered "Thanks" while passing him in the school hallway. It was a few weeks after Ace had beaten the shit out of him. He had a broken nose and his eyes could barley open. But he hadn't told. When asked who had done it, Dennis had simply said a tramp had been in the alleyway and mugged him. People where happy to believe him. The people of Castle Rock believed whatever was easy to understand.

Ace had been walking with Eyeball, and some new guys he hung with, Vince, and Billy and sometimes a guy called Charlie who was as thick as two planks but fast with a blade. They had begun to call themselves The Cobras after a cool rock n roll band, and their reputation was growing, since every kid knew who had beaten up the Lachance kid, thanks to Eyeball.

Then Denny had shuffled past. Eyeball and Ace had new respect for him, and had warned the gang to leave him alone. Ace brushed past him and uttered "Thanks, Denny" in his ear. Denis had looked up, but said nothing. Their friendship was broken.

Through the years, Dennis had gone from strength to strength, while Ace went rapidly down-hill. When Denis was put onto the football team, Ace had spent his first ever night in a jail cell. When Denis was made captain, Ace had stabbed someone. When Denis got a pretty girlfriend named Jane, Ace had gotten a girl pregnant.

The sound of a coughing fit came from the kitchen, cutting off Ace's train of thought. "Old coot better hurry up and die already," he muttered darkly, carrying the whiskey bottle back to his old armchair on the porch. The sun was setting. Eyeball would be here soon with the guys. They where busting a car tonight; gonna find some easy chicks and head down Carlo Road. But not yet. Ace had time.

He sat down and skimmed his eyes over the article. There was a photo from the prom. Ace hadn't gone, he was banned from all school dances and occasions. Denny has taken Jane. He was smiling happily from the grainy photograph. It was taken a month before he was crushed underneath a jeep going 70 miles an hour.

A few words caught his eye. "Denis Lachance was loved by many. He was brave, noble, and a talented sportsman who had great potential. He was a model figure for Castle Rock. He will be sorely missed by family, friends and the residents of Castle Rock, Maine."

"I'll miss you too, buddy." Ace whispered. A tear landed on Denis' black and white face, smudging the ink. It looked like he was crying too.

Loud music and harsh headlights came from the top of the dusty side road leading to Ace's house. Ace wiped his eyes furiously, took another swig of whiskey and stood up.

"Come on, Merrill! The whores of Castle Rock don't like to be kept waiting!" Eyeball screamed from the driver seat.

On his way to the car, Ace threw the tear stained newspaper into the trash can.

"Right you are, Chambers," Ace grinned. "Now move the fuck over, I'm driving."

Eyeball hurried to obey.

Not bothering to open the door, Ace hopped gracefully over it and slid into the drivers seat.

"Let's ride, boys," Ace said in his Red Neck voice.

"Your one crazy son of a bitch, Ace Merrill" Billy chuckled.

"That I am, Billy. That I am." Ace smirked, pulling away.

"Hey," Charlie piped up. "You guys read the paper today? That Lachance kid got totaled. Any of you guys know him?"

"Lachance? " Ace asked smoothly. "Remember his name from somewhere."


End file.
